Kardace Oneshots
by Bea Candy
Summary: Based within headcanons by Snowy (tumblr user snowyfrostshadow), most often made at her request.
1. Monstrous

They meet in the middle of a battlefield while a war all around them lays waste to the place he once called home. The place she still calls home. He loves it, loves how her mouth is curled into a tight frown.

"Where are they?!" she asks, and her voice is made of acid. He laughs, unbidden. He laughs because she is trying to mask her fear in a facade of confidence, of dominance, of control. She really is obsessed with her precious control, isn't she? The laugh only causes her glare to intensify.

He morphs his face into a cruel mockery of confusion and innocently asks, "A bit more specific, please?" He's been accused of being a ham by multiple people, and he supposes he can see why. He does have a tendency to delve into the archetypal 'villain speech' at inopportune moments, a tendency to give out more information then needed. "Are you asking about the sibling who's still in his cage, or the less obedient one?"

He revels in the horror that crosses her face. He lives for those rare moments of honest emotion. So much so that he doesn't even think to regret lying. He wouldn't kill them, not when they were still leverage.

"You monster!" she shrieks, and suddenly she rushes forward without strategy. She runs quickly, and it would have probably caught him off guard. Would have, if she had bothered to avoid the tripwire at her feet.

And that's why he allows himself to be a bit cocky, a bit arrogant, a bit of 'a ham.' Because, above all else, he is prepared.

The tripwire reacts, and, before she has time to think about reacting, it wraps around her, restraining her entire body other than her face.

She tries to get up, to right herself, to bite her way through the rope. "Not a chance," he says, his voice calm. He bends so that their faces are close. She thrashes more intensely, moving her mouth as if trying to bite him, trying to inflict some sort of damage, however ineffective. He doesn't flinch, and instead plucks her sunglasses from her face. He looks with mock-longing into her naked, uncovered, eyes, which have begun to tear up. He moves his hand toward her face and casually spins her sunglasses on his other hand's index finger.

"You know, without these things, you look," he pauses for a moment while caressing her cheek, his face contorted as if he is searching for the right word. After a few moments, he grins.

"Smaller."


	2. Cliffside

They're fighting when it happens. But that's not saying much. They're almost always fighting, after all. This time is somewhat particular in that it's a climactic fight. They're fighting with a cliff as their backdrop, the sunset providing dramatic lighting. She's got her staff out, he's out of distant traps and limited to hand-to-hand combat.

He's at a disadvantage at this stage of the game. He knows that. His talent is all stored in planning, scheming, mind games. He can hold his own in a physical fight, sure, but against her, his nemesis, he is clearly outmatched. He doesn't really stand a chance.

Fortunately for him, backup is on the way. He's just biding his time until the cavalry gets there and takes him away so that he can escape from her and regroup, rethink his strategy, regain the upper hand.

They don't talk when they fight. Sometimes they do, but not this time. They both try to land blows, missing most of them but occasionally hitting each other with minor punches or halfhearted kicks. He's actually doing better than he expected, he's caught a rhythm, and he loses himself to the fight, almost euphoric.

And that's how she catches him off guard and trips him and his eyes are narrowed as he thinks of how to make her pay except her eyes are wide, they're wide, why are her eyes wide, where did the ground go what is he standing on-

And then he's falling, and all he can think is that he's falling. She was probably just trying to knock him onto his back, incapacitate him, maybe. Take him in and try him, but now he's falling, he's fallen off of a cliff, he's going to die. He's going to die and it will all be over, and now, suddenly, he regrets it, he regrets everything. He closes his eyes. Tears form in them from air resistance. He regrets everything that led him to the cliff, he regrets everything that led him to fight her, he regrets it all, he's willing to beg for forgiveness, he's willing to give it all up, face charges.

And then he's not falling anymore. He is too busy being relieved to wonder why. He hugs himself and silently thanks the world for sparing him. As he hugs himself, he feels a strange texture around his chest and he realizes his eyes are still closed. When he opens them, he sees a wire-like rope tied to his chest, slowly pulling him up. He recognizes her grappling hook and he looks up to the cliffside, where she is grunting as she pulls him up. He's too shocked to remind himself to react.

And then she pulls him the last bit of distance and he's no longer suspended. She breathes heavily from the labor of pulling him up while he chokes on his own heavy breathing.

They can only stare at each other. Both of their hearts are pounding. The adrenaline overwhelms any walls, and for a moment he looks at her and sees a wave of things that are typically absent from her expression. Fear. Guilt. Deep, deep, frustration. Just a hint, an imperceptible hint of…

He can't quite parse what the hint is of, because she catches him staring and her face is stony again. He hears himself sigh sharply in disappointment as he pulls himself up to his feet. He wobbles slightly and she holds out his arms to catch him if necessary, but he pulls back.

She could have caught him then, he was so disoriented. She could have pulled him down from his wobbly stand and cuffed him, sent him to jail. Why didn't she? Did she forget? Was it some sort of sportingness? Was it the emotion he had almost caught a glimpse of?

He suddenly hears a helicoptor behind him and the world is going at the correct speed again. It's his backup. He tries to smirk, but his heart's not in it and all he can manage is a relieved smile. He can't help but wish they'd been just a second earlier. Imagine if he'd fallen and her eyes had widened and he'd been caught by his team. Then he'd have psyched her out. She'd be the terrified one.

Well, might as well try to salvage it, anyway.

"Thanks for the hand, but I hope you don't think this changes anything," he says, attempting to sound confident, like this is another mind game he has won. However, his heart's relentless pounding forces a stutter into it. The waver entirely ruins the tone of the scene, shreds his dignity, wrecks his persona.

She, blessedly, acts as if his persona is entirely maintained. She scowls as if he is a formidable foe. "No," she says, her voice careful and controlled.

"What happened doesn't change anything."


End file.
